Secrets Of The Day
Secrets of the day.
Space
Getting lost in thoughts.
Closer Than You Know
Walking along and contemplating life.
Seasons Of The Day
How the seasons turn to years right before our eyes.
Storm
A storm of emotions as it tears at a friend's soul.
SAILS BY ANY TIDE
FOR YOU MY LOVE, THE BEACONS ARE LIT, TO GUIDE YOUR SHIP INTO MY HEART, UPON THE TIDE.
Honoring Back
To honor my fellow soldiers and to those who have served before us as a tribute for Veteran's Day.
Love's Philosophy
Love always finds a way.
Choices
Decisions are hard to make when you just can't get past the 'what-ifs'
Still Unbroken
How the elements of nature and the strong will to survive during the tough times are connected.
Oh Baby, You Made Me That Way
How a kiss and love brings out emotions.
Waiting On Sundown
A young man helps a friend escape an abusive relationship.
Gifted Hands
A poem for the working man and for The Maker who makes it possible.
Dreaming Within A Dream
Morning thoughts....
Prejudice
How prejudice can cloud a person.
Sunshine Police
Sunshine Police riding Dark Clouds on high Arresting the Light in a Sleepy Blue Sky Arise! Sun Beams! Fight for the Light! Before the Sunshine Police Turn your Day into Night!
Poem Gets Death!
A Poem was sent to prison To await execution From fearful minds who'd silence Freedoms Revolution! At 6am. the guns will fire Every phrase shot through and through But Freedoms Rhymes will reload again to give its life for You!
Untitled.
'One more cup of coffee before I go, to the valley below...' - Bob Dylan The poet is a coffee filter, the world a blend. I am not the nutrients nor the soil. I am not the rain which seeps into your being before you awaken. I am not even
HILL CLIMBER
CAMPED OUT IN THE BEAUTIFUL VERDANT, NIRE VALLEY, IN COUNTY WATERFORD, NEAR DAWN, IM ALWAYS RESTLESS BEFORE A CLIMB, ONLY A HILL CLIMBER, CAN FEEL THE BUZZ, BEFORE AN ASSENT, IT PUTS BARBED WIRE IN YOUR EYES, AND FIRE IN YOUR BLOOD.
OHIO STAR
WHEN 2 STARS COLLIDE, PERHAPS A SUPER NOVA. ?
The Horse Of Job
The awesome magnificence of the horse as described in the Book of Job.
Petty Tyrants Try Their Best
A poem about small minded people who tend to be very petty and the childishness of it all.
On A Night In '92
A recount of the weekend I lost my child and the subsequent pain and dealing with it all. God's grace and inner strength guided me during one of my darkest times.
Out In The Pasture At Dusk
Observations from the top of the windmill and on life in general.
The Old State 1743
The magic of the road and it's history.
The Second Book Of Job
A fall down some rimrock causes one to evaluate their life.
What A Cowboy Means To Me
A definition of the American West. Simple, understated, but all true.
CREATURE OF THE NIGHT
Part of a collection of illustrated poems, for a children's story book.
Descriptions
Different descriptions given to me by others....
PIN CITY
The centre of the universe The ONLY thing that's real Any act, it doesn't matter Just make that cocaine deal! The last high is still receding It wasn't quite enough The next one may achieve it. Need more and better stuff. That pinnacle of
THE LITTLE GIRLS GRAVE
CAME ACROSS THIS LITTLE GIRLS GRAVE, WHILE DOING RESEARCH, IN THE ANCIENT GRAVEYARD AT INISLOON, FURTHER RESEARCH THREW UP THE FACT THAT HER MOTHER WENT QUIET INSANE WITH GRIEF AFTERWARDS, THE PROXIMITY OF THE HOUSE OVERLOOKING THE GRAVEYARD IN INISLOON, WAS TOO MUCH FOR HER TO BEAR, THE JAMESON FAMILY, MOVED AWAY TO DUBLIN, SHORTLY AFTERWARDS, IN THE MID 18 HUNDREDS. A QUAINT BUT BEAUTIFUL SPOT IS ANCIENT INISHLOON, AS THE RIVER MISTS SWIRL ABOUT IT, IN GHOST LIKE SHROUD. INISLOON=RIVERSIDE MEADOW.
AUNT KATHYS GARDEN
AUNT KATHY, 91 YEARS YOUNG, AND LOVES HER FLOWERS, TREATS THEM WITH THE TENDERNESS, OF A MOTHER WITH HER BABIES, AND LOVES THEM DEARLY, A DEAD FLOWER, CREASES HER FACE WITH PAIN, AS IF HAVING LOST A FRIEND, I LOVE HER DEARLY, BUT DON'T TELL HER I SAID THAT.
roads
Roads within roads numbering two footsteps of clay walking a world of paradise lost what could we have been forbidden fruit tree evergreen Walking through time opening door leaving behind us like leaves on the floor days as the chaff
TWILIGHT
An old woman, who lived in a hollow part of the valley, climbed to higher ground, to stand by an old gate, and watch the gold, or pink hue of twilight, thrown out across the hill, which she loved dearly, sometimes while strolling of an evening, id met her there, and we muzed, to while away an hour, and watch the gloming. the poem Twilight, is in her memory, Babbie Johnson, may you rest in peace and stillness, of your beloved Twilight. auld wans, a local expression, meaning old women
YOU
You turned my head that day, while i was looking the other way, you brought in light, to replace the deepest darkness, you brought the tide to me, when life was on the ebb, you brought me hope eternal, when despair had ruled my days. You br
GRANDAD
MY LOVELY GENTLE GRANDAD, LEFT HIS SHEPARD LIFE IN THE MOUNTAINS, HERE IN WATERFORD, TO FIGHT IN THE FIRST WORLD WAR, WITH THE 'ROYAL IRISH FUSILIERS' A MOST HONORABLE MAN, HE HAD A GENTLENESS OF SPIRIT, WHICH WAS IMPERVIOUS TO ALL LIFE COULD THROW AT HIM, I STILL MISS HIM, TERRIBLY. A BULLS EYE, WAS A BOILED SWEET, A PEGGIE'S LEG, WAS A STICK OF GLUCOSE CANDY. A WOODBINE, A BRAND OF CIGARETTE, WITH NO FILTERS.
THE SYCAMORE TREE
I HAVE IN TRUTH, STILL TO PUT AWAY, CHILDISH THINGS.
KNOCKBOY
'KNOCKBOY' IS AN ANCENT CHURCH, JUST DOWN THE ROAD FROM MY COUNTY WATERFORD, MOUNTAN HOME, HERE N IRELAND, AND IS RATHER QUAINT, THE CHURCH IS FAMED, FOR ITS DOOR, AND WNDOW LINTELS, WHCH CONTAN THE PRECHRSTAN, OGHAM SCRIPT CARVNGS, DOUBTLESS THERE WAS AN OLD PAGAN SITE HERE, IN MORE ANCENT TMES. BORHEEN, AN ANCIENT NARROW PATHWAY, LITERALLY A NARROW COW TRACK. CURLEW, A BIRD, WTH A HIGH PITCHED CRY. 'KNOCKBOY' IN GAELIC, 'CNOC BUI' MEANING THE YELLOW HILL, NAMED FOR THE PROFUSON OF YELLOW FURZE, WHCH ADORN IT.
Isn't it Ironic?
What if not poetry is the language of love? Yet when our passion reaches the end of the line, We just feel the pain; hardly ever the rhyme!
SHOOTING STAR
In tribute to GASHLEY, she of the tumbling mind, whose poems carry both a wisdom, and enchantment, she the enigma, of the heart and soul, treasure her, magic dust is scarce, we are blessed, that she has sprinkled some for us. ben999
Sweet Release
Just for fun... :D
Words
Are words just words?